


Second meetings

by orphan_account



Category: Historical RPF, Literary RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Percy tries to determine if John Keats was resurrected by the scientist that brought him back from the dead as well.





	Second meetings

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to note that Percy is sober at the time of any sexual interactions in this story; it's all consensual. There's also nothing explicit, things are just alluded to. I like the idea of Byron/Wilde but there's like none of it here, it's just mentioned. Maybe I'll expand on it in a future story, who knows.

John Keats had been with Percy in his first life. He’d only slept with him a couple of times, but they’d been great. When he’d first been resurrected by that crazy college student, he’d hoped that he’d be able to reconnect with Percy. Maybe even have him to himself. What a thought.

 

But now? John was sitting at the worst dive bar possible, staring across the room at Percy on a date. With none other than George Byron. Ugh. He turned around in his chair, back to his cheap and awful beer which he hadn’t been drinking on account of how horrible it tasted. Suddenly he could hear Percy’s golden laugh burst out across the room and he felt a pang in his stomach. God how he wanted to be with Percy, really more than anything at that moment.

 

Percy started to laugh again from that back corner of the bar. John turned to see that Percy had now migrated to straddling George’s lap. John sighed as Percy kissed George up and down. It wasn’t fair. George was such an asshole, really. And yet Percy was giving _him_ his attention. Percy said something loudly.

 

“Oh Georgie you flatter me,” Percy said, laughing in a way that made it obvious that he was drunk. Even though laudanum didn’t exist in this time period (at least it wasn’t nearly as abundant), John was fairly certain Percy was under the influence of something other than exclusively the gin he was enjoying. George must have given him something. George was always experimenting with mood-altering substances.

 

George laughed along, and gave Percy’s mouth yet another awfully sloppy kiss. John hated it, but some extremely masochistic part of him demanded that he watch every moment. Why hadn’t they been kicked out yet?? Their PDA _must_ be grounds to do so. “Get a room,” John grumbled to himself. He was practically burning with jealousy.

 

“Georgie,” Percy said. John was not used to a Percy who was this flirtatious, this peaceful, this in love with George. Who the fuck would call him Georgie?? Certainly not a sober Percy.

 

“Yes, love?” George said, kissing Percy’s neck. John held his head in his hands. Percy was one step away from a fairly public lap dance, and hopefully _that_ would get them kicked out.

 

“Mmmmm that feels rather nice,” Percy said. George laughed. John _hated_ his laugh. “At any rate, I believe it’s time we get home.”

 

“Of course, babe,” George said. It took them quite a few minutes to extricate themselves from one another, and then they tumbled out of the bar, stopping every few moments to sloppily kiss yet again.

 

It was like they were ignorant to the fact that anyone else was there. Well it seemed that way to John until Percy turned around while George was opening the door. Percy directly caught John’s eye, he was sure of it. But he did nothing—Percy simply stared into John’s eyes (and how John had loved his eyes when they had been together in his past life) and then he bolted. Well that was interesting

~~

 

John stumbled back to his own apartment which was honestly a dump. Apparently being a resurrected poet didn’t necessarily mean you’d be any richer than you’d been the first time around. To pay the bills, he assisted at the medical school at the university. He’d have a lot more money if he ever invested enough time to actually get his medical degree.

 

He set his keys down onto the counter and climbed into his tiny bed nestled in the corner of the room. He briefly considered putting the kettle on for a cup of tea, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. He just sat there, moping.

 

~~

 

Percy Shelley had had enough of George. Sure, the sex was wonderful and George always had enough money to buy Percy whatever he wanted (George was the occasional star of a decently watched reality TV show; Percy didn’t understand how he had gotten the job or what George did, but he always had money to absolutely spoil Percy), but George could be too much at times.

 

And by too much, he meant requested sex every hour, on the hour. Percy had been laid out on the couch trying to overcome his latest alcohol-and-George-provided-pot hangover. He was wearing a pair of George’s green skinny jeans which were a little short on him. It looked like he was wearing capris. He was wearing his own disheveled button up shirt (which had been crumpled on the floor last night) along with the tie, which had already been loosened by George earlier.

 

To top it all off, he was wearing a pair of George’s sunglasses (George owned countless pairs of Ray-Bans) on top of his own pair of prescription glasses. In his previous life, glasses hadn’t really been a thing, so his vision was always blurry. But now, everything was sharp and crisp. And at this particular moment, it was all incredibly too bright. He felt faintly nauseated.

 

“C’mon babe, one more round. I promise it’ll feel just as good as the first 4,” George said, trying to persuade Percy to sleep with him, yet again. He’d been walking around the house completely naked, save for his open bathrobe.

 

“George, I told you. I’m most definitely _not_ in the mood,” Percy replied tersely. He felt suddenly nauseated and flipped into fetal position, ready to throw up into the trash can next to the couch.

 

“What happened to Georgie? You were so willing when you were calling me that yesterday,” George said. He flopped onto the couch in the space that Percy had left when he’d curled up into a smaller, more compact position to prepare to throw up.

 

“Ugh. You’d gotten me high and then you took me to the bar and got me drunk. And you know how stupid I act when I’m high and drunk,” Percy said. He could feel a headache coursing its way through his head like an awful, hellish wave. “The consent for that first round was dubious, at best. I mean you’d waited for me to sober up, but it still wasn’t like I was the most logical man in the world.”

 

“But then you weren’t drunk _or_ high _or_ at all illogical for the second, third, or fourth rounds,” George said, pouting slightly. How he wasn’t hungover, lord only knew.

 

“Yes, but you. You know how I get after the first round. I always want more,” Percy said. He determined that he wasn’t actually going to lose the previous night’s dinner, so he rolled back onto his stomach. Unfortunately, George’s ass now took up the space where Percy’s legs used to end, so he had to bend his knees awkwardly.

 

“Mmmmm. Always begging for more, are we?” George said, suggestively. It was no secret that Percy was the submissive one in the relationship.

 

“Just leave it alone, George,” Percy said. Not so much a statement as a warning.

 

“Ugh fine,” George pouted. Percy glared at him from behind the Ray-bans and his normal pair of Browline eye glasses. “Well I’m going out then,” George said, finally tying up his bathrobe (thank god). “I’ve met a man named Oscar, he’s a poet, and I’ve decided I’m rather fond of him.”

 

“And how long will that last?” Percy said, in an exceedingly (though not undeservingly) snarky voice. “I’m betting two days.”

 

“Oh who knows?” George said, getting dressed. “I just know that he’s lovely and I plan to bed him soon.”

 

~~

 

George had finally left in search of this wild Oscar, and Percy sat up. His hangover was subsiding, leaving mainly confusing thoughts. He had seen someone at the bar yesterday that was unnervingly like his John.

 

He knew on a subconscious level that John probably hadn’t been resurrected by that crazy scientist. Of course, he didn’t know for sure—and that was what had thrown him off. The man had been sitting at the bar counter, but even with the barstool serving to disguise his height, he couldn’t have been more than 5’0”—the height of _his_ John.

 

And of course, he had the same beautiful auburn hair his former lover had. It was cut into a shorter, more modern cut, but it was unmistakably the same color as the hair he’d been so accustomed to running his hands through in another life.

 

He’d stared right into the man’s eyes before leaving, but he’d still been unable to confirm if he was John. Percy had been conducting a quiet search for his former lover, and of course for Mary, but had been unable to find either of his former loves. Instead, he’d been stuck with George, who even in his past life had been essentially just a hookup--At best.

 

Percy grabbed his keys and walked out the door. He wanted to find this man. He may have been his only hope for finding his John.

 

~~

 

John came back to the bar for no specific reason at all. Maybe he just wanted to tease himself again. He’d seen Percy around so often—Why the hell hadn’t he said hello yet? Why did he faun over George right where he _knew_ John could see? The whole situation infuriated John.

 

He’d been sitting over his tepid beer that hit the palate like a razorblade for about two hours when the door opened. George stepped into the bar with someone who was decidedly not Percy. He had curly black hair and was somehow even more flamboyant than George was. Well that was odd. John turned back to his beverage.

 

Approximately 20 minutes later, another patron walked in. Percy. He was wearing the weirdest green capris with a disheveled button up shirt and a tie. John had actually quite liked Percy in ties (and of course cravats) but he wasn’t about to blurt it out in the middle of the bar. To top off the strange outfit, Percy was wearing a pair of oversized Ray-Bans over his normal pair of glasses.

 

The awkwardly dressed Percy stumbled up to the bar, and began to talk with the bar tender.

 

“So uh, I was here yesterday, and I saw this gentleman with auburn hair and he was about yay high. Do you uh, know his name, or any contact information?” Percy asked, indicating a height of about 5’0”. The bar tender gave him a glare, remembering him as the obnoxious PDA customer from yesterday. “Please. It’s important.”

 

The bartender began to look around, when he suddenly spotted John, who of course matched that description. Wonderful, Percy was looking for him so that he could yell at him. Simply delightful.

 

“That man right there matches your description, Romeo,” the bartender said, like he had dealt with these things all the time. This may have been the town’s designated gay bar, but it wasn’t like something like this happened every day.

 

Percy turned, and saw John. His face lit up into a golden smile that John couldn’t help but melt into. Percy quickly sat down.

 

“Please excuse my poor form. I’m looking for an old friend of mine, his name is John Keats. Do you, uh, happen to know him?” Percy asked, nervously.

 

“I am him,” John said, turning to take a swig of his awful drink. He was becoming more and more bitter the longer the conversation was going on.

 

“You!? My John, here in the flesh!?” Percy said, extremely excited. The smile on his face somehow grew larger.

 

“Your John?” He said, annoyed at Percy’s sudden claim of ownership over him (hadn’t he just been making out with that bastard George yesterday!?)

 

“Well. I. Excuse me. I just. We were lovers, weren’t we?” Percy said.

 

“Were is the operative word here,” John said. Percy’s face fell. “You were just making out with ‘Georgie’ in the back here _yesterday_. Practically giving him a lap dance too.”

 

“I. I didn’t know you’d been resurrected,” Percy said. He took off his ridiculous green sunglasses. Fuck his eyes were gorgeous.

 

“That’s an awful excuse,” John said.

 

“Well it’s true! At any rate, try having George as your roommate sometime. I might have been waiting for you, but I’m not a fucking nun.”

 

“I. I suppose.”

 

~~

 

John and Percy ended up leaving the bar, towards Percy and George’s house.

 

“Okay, okay, but why ‘Georgie’?” John asked, in between his gasping laughs at Percy’s ridiculousness.

 

“Well. I was considerably high at that point and the amount of gin I’d had wasn’t exactly healthy either. George had to wait what felt like eons for me to sober up enough for us to. Uh. You know?” Percy said, blushing.

 

“Wow, George actually waiting to have sex with someone, what a novel idea,” John said.

 

“You know, if you get past how he seems to always be uncomfortably aroused 24/7, he’s not actually a bad guy. He’s willing to wait for stuff like that,” Percy said. He finally reached his house, where he let John in.

 

“Strange.”

 

“I know I know it’s weird to think of George as an actual decent human being, but it can be done.”

 

“I see,” John said.

 

“Now, where were we?” Percy said. “Discussing my roommate’s sexual habits along with my own?”

 

“Not like. Not like that,” John said. Percy made him seem like a creep.

 

“Mhm,” Percy said. “Now, I distinctly recall desiring to kiss you back at that bar. Would you mind_.

 

Percy was interrupted by John’s lips on his own. They began to kiss, slowly and tenderly. Soon however, they began to pick up pace. Percy slowly sat down on the couch he'd been on earlier that morning, and attempted to move the trash can in the most suave way possible. Thankfully, John was far too occupied with other affairs to notice it. John, of course, was the one straddling his lap now (As opposed to Percy being with George). He felt irredeemably happy in the moment, glad to see his lover yet again, this time resurrected into a modern form.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same bar that Hypatia and Byron meet at in the other fic I wrote in this universe. Lord Byron is the exact type of person who would use the word "babe" too much.


End file.
